


A Red Wedding

by quixotic_owl



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 12:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotic_owl/pseuds/quixotic_owl
Summary: Delilah's wedding was almost perfect.





	A Red Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> there's not enough fic for these most interesting marrieds, so here's a tiny offering to the tag!
> 
> [this song](https://open.spotify.com/album/2ESmc6ZviLHxIzHCcE9JmI) came on while i was writing and it was too accurate i couldn't not share

Delilah had never liked wearing red. 

Which was a problem considering her dress was red, brighter than blood red, specially ordered and designed from Marquet. The seamstress had only finished sewing her into it ten minutes ago and already she wanted to claw the damn thing off, let the small fortune of her dowry in gems scatter around her. 

The red clashed with her hair, clashed with her skin tone and reminded her of blood. Which she had been told was the point - blessings of fertility to the union. 

It was only for love of Sylas that she simply heaved a sigh and smoothed non existent wrinkles away. His was the family that came from this conservative, traditional and damn old fashioned western part of Wildemount. This is where his family owned land and where they would be gifted a homestead and land of their own once they were wed. As much as she would have liked to move to Zadash, Sylas wanted to be close to his family and she wasn’t going to ask him to give that up. However, learning to teleport might be a necessity. 

The door opened to reveal one of Sylas’s sisters, also dressed in red but simpler without the jeweled adornment. “We’re ready for you.” 

Somewhere, in another room of the mansion Delilah knew her brother would be collecting Slyas and saying the same thing to him. The similar actions mirroring the equality they would be entering into. The tradition was silence on the walk before the ceremony - something about reflecting on the decision about to be made - to Delilah’s annoyance Joya adhered to tradition and the only sound was their heels clicking as she was lead through the mansion. 

The antechamber she was brought to had been specially chosen for it’s three doors; one for her to enter through, one for Sylas and another for them to enter together into the hall where all their guests and the priest were waiting. 

A bell sounded the hour and the door swung open, without looking back at Joya Delilah calmly entered the room, this was her future she didn’t need to be worried. She could see Sylas across from her doing the same. 

She could see him taking in her dress and how her hair had been done up in a twirl like she did when she was working. If she could have chosen, this would not have been how she would have dressed to be married in. 

“How did you avoid the red?” she asked looking pointedly at his much more demure rust coloured outfit. 

“Mine is the colour of the dried blood of the creatures I will slay to provide for you.” Delilah rolled her eyes as he moved forward, “Or at least that’s what my father claimed when he refused to wear the red when he married mother and so he couldn’t really insist on it for me.” 

“I’m sure that was all your mother’s idea anyway.”

“Of course,” at this point they’d reached each other in the centre of the room, without conscious thought their hands tangled together. “She’s the thinker of the two of them, just like you are with us.” 

“Mmm,” Delilah hummed in agreement, “Sometimes.” She pecked his jaw. 

By tradition they had stayed in separate houses, in separate beds, on separate sides of the village for the past week while the wedding was organised. It had left her a bit touch starved. Between her being introduced to everyone and Sylas being reintroduced there hadn’t been much time for themselves. 

Delilah had agreed to the separation because that was the done thing even though she thought it was ridiculous considering they’d travelled together for weeks on their journey from Emon. And never mind that they’d been living together there but from the quickly changed topic of conversation when various aunts and uncles inquired about their life pre-betrothal, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

There had been a day or two when their ship back had been becalmed in the Lucidian Ocean that Delilah had thought to ask their captain to marry them just to turn it official. But Sylas hadn’t been keen on snubbing his village when they were travelling all that way. Her reasoning that they could still have a party for his village didn’t persuade him. 

Slyas’s free hand was behind her neck, holding her face close to him and slowly stroking where her mass of hair was pulled away. “Seeing your hair like this makes me think you’re going to go out there and enchant everyone.” Pulling away for a moment so her could look at her eyes, “you’re not are you?”

“I considered it,” she said seriously, placing a hand on his chest just to be closer, “especially after they put me in this awful dress.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you love, but it’s still awful.”

Diplomatically, “It’s not that bad, just very red.” 

“I hate red,” grumbled into his collar. He knew what it reminded her of. Red reminded her too much of her studies and the blood she tried to weave around her. 

Delilah could hear the grin in his voice as he teased, “I’m proud of you for letting it stay as it is - ”

“Thanks.”

“When I know you could have changed it instantly if you wanted -”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re so powerful -”

“Mmm.”

“And can do anything -”

“You’re just buttering me up so I look happy to be marrying you.” 

“Dammit, you saw through my plan.” 

Grinning now, she moved back to look at her soon to be husband whose expression mirrored her own. The bright morning sun slanted in through the windows behind her, catching some of the brown in his otherwise black hair and causing squint lines to appear by his eyes. Sylas’ grin softened as he looked at her moving his hand from behind her head and slowly tracing the side of her face as he said, “It seems to have worked though,” tracing her bottom lip, “look at that smile.” 

Bashfully she raised onto her toes to bump his nose with hers in affection.

Delilah could hear footsteps approaching the final door that neither of them had entered from. “Are you ready?” 

“Can’t wait,” Sylas replied stepping away from her to stand at her side. She could feel the fabric of her skirt pressing against her legs as he moved close to her. In that moment she loved him all the more for having no doubts and being just as excited as her. 

All the village saw when the door opened was two silhouettes limned in red with light streaming behind them. 

Delilah's expression slipped as she walked out hand in hand with Sylas. She felt dumb grinning in public but she couldn’t stop her eyes from smiling at everyone as they made their way together to their altar. She wasn’t sure if they should be holding hands for this, whether it was _tradition_ or not, but Sylas didn’t show any inclination of letting hers go and she wasn’t walking empty handed if she didn’t have to. This was his town and his people, he could lead the way with what was proper. 

When they reached the priest Delilah didn’t even pay attention to the words; she wasn’t religious. Any god that they were binding themself in front of would have to fight to get her to pay attention to them. Their bond had nothing to do with the gods, it was them fitting together naturally as no one else had previously done. So many men didn’t appreciate her power or it made them feel small, but not Sylas; he loved that about her and she loved him for it. 

What she will remember for her whole life is the look on Sylas’ face as their hands were bound and magic rose inside the ribbon making it disappear. She couldn’t tell if the magic was innate to them or a god claiming their union but the feeling of being bound to him forever lingered as the ribbon faded. 

Their hands stayed together though the binding was complete as the village stood and celebrated, as they walked away from the altar, as they moved towards the start of their long life together.


End file.
